


know the night

by itsmylifekay



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Graphic Description, M/M, lots of blood in some parts, relationships are talked about but not like the focus, supposed to be horror-ish so be warned, telling you now, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:29:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3325826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Movie night at the Avengers takes a turn for the paranormal, leaving Clint to face a series of trials on his own in order to save his friends.</p>
<p>Horror-esque</p>
            </blockquote>





	know the night

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings and if this isn't your cup of tea proceed with caution  
> Other than that, I hope you enjoy!

 

Light spilled out from the television and flickered across the seven bodies huddled in front of the screen, making eerie shadows dance across their faces. The room went dark and then suddenly bright again, this time tinted red. Shrieks from the speakers mixed with the muffled sounds coming from the spectators to create a ghastly harmony. Then everything fell silent as chilling music began to play.

More red, more screams, until everyone was on edge.

The movie finally came to an end but no one felt like getting up to turn off the television, so they all just laid out on the floor or couch and curled up to sleep, clutching on to pillows and one another to ward off nightmares. Soon the room was filled with the gentle snores of Clint’s teammates, but he was left staring sullenly at the ceiling. Why did he have to be the last to fall asleep? He rolled over and stared at Bucky’s back, smirking at the way the other man was curved protectively around Steve’s bulky form. He could feel the warmth of Natasha’s ankle against his calve and willed himself to relax, telling his mind to get over the past hour and twenty minutes and go to sleep. But just as he felt himself begin to drift off, he heard laughter coming from the other side of the room, an airy and feminine kind of laughter that belonged to no one Clint had ever met. His eyes shot open and he propped himself up on an elbow, straining to see into the dark but dreading what he might find.

His eyes flickered quickly across the room but came up blank, letting his shoulders lose their tension as he mentally chastised himself, saying it was only his imagination. But then the laughter began again, closer this time, from just behind the couch. The hairs on the back of Clint’s neck stood on end and he quickly pushed himself into a sitting position, fumbling in the dark to find his phone, his iPod, anything to light up the suddenly oppressive darkness.

The soft glow from his screen offered little relief though and his head was constantly snapping back and forth, searching for moving shadows in the darkened room. He shook Bucky’s shoulder and hissed from between his teeth. “Bucky, I think someone’s in the apartment. _Bucky._ ” He shook harder but Bucky didn’t wake up. Didn’t even make a sound.

Clint swallowed nervously and crawled a few feet across the floor, shaking Bruce’s shoulder this time. “Nat, hey, wake up. Nat… _Natasha.”_ But there was no response.

He tried Thor, then Steve, Natasha and Tony. But none of them would wake up either. A cold sweat broke out across Clint’s forehead. He heard the laughter again and took a step back, bumping into the couch and almost stumbling backwards, dropping down into the cushions instead. His entire body felt weak moments later, a sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach as he watched a woman appear from thin air just feet away.

His mouth dried and his blood ran cold as she approached, his eyes locked onto the murky image moving before him.  A white robe flowed around her, melting into the air like a wispy haze, contrasting sharply with her jet-black hair. Her lips were stained blood red and her eyes were darker than anything Clint had ever seen, black pools that seemed to go on without end.  The ethereal specter stopped and raised a hand, moving her fingers gracefully through the air with a hollow laugh. Suddenly, six black bags appeared on the floor around her, each one adorned with nothing more than a solid metal zipper running up the front.

She lowered her arm and the first bag rose from the ground, following beside her like a loyal dog as she made her way across the room, seeming to hover just above the ground. She stopped just barely to the left of Thor’s head. A small smile twisted her lips but did nothing to soften her features, if anything she became that much more terrifying. And then Clint was blinking, rubbing his eyes, unable to comprehend what was happening as Thor was lifted from himself. A flickering, blurry image of the man hovered just above his body, now ashen white, before being swallowed into the black bag at the woman’s side.

A flick of her fingers had the zipper sliding shut, sealing Thor inside. The bag sank heavily to the floor and a new one took its place at the phantom’s side. She lifted her hand, another smile, and then it was Natasha being transported into the foreboding black bag, tiny body fitting easily inside then disappearing moments later as a zipper once again slid shut.

Clint knew something was terribly, _terribly_ wrong.

As the next bag began to float slowly across the room, Clint forced himself to his feet, trying to calm his frantically beating heart. He watched in horror as Tony’s faded image disappeared into the darkness. A small, choked sound escaped from between his lips.

The woman’s head turned slowly, eyes lighting on Clint with a curious look. Her head cocked ever so slightly to the side. A gentle hum filled the air. Clint couldn’t turn away. He was trapped inside of her unending eyes as if his very soul was being sucked into their depths. His knees began to buckle and he felt his lungs screaming inside his chest. That same, unnerving laugh echoed in his ears, the spell broken as she turned away, once again intent on her task.

She stepped closer to Steve, waved her hand, then flicked her fingers to seal him inside of the midnight tomb. As another bag skirted past his leg, Clint found his strength. He pushed forward and stood in front of Bucky’s form, chest heaving as he stared down the woman now only inches away. He was certain that she would be able to hear the frantic beating of his heart. How could she not, when it was practically pounding out of his chest?

But she simply laughed, waved her hand, and Clint watched in horror as Bucky’s blurry shape phased through his lower legs and entered the bag, disappearing quickly inside. Now only Bruce remained and the specter’s steely eyes were already locked onto his unmoving form. Clint scrambled to protect his friend but just as it was with Bucky, Bruce’s blurry figure merely passed through his clutching arms, into the open jaws of the last black bag.

The zipper began its upward path and Clint felt his breathing stop. What could he do now? Was everything lost? He bit the inside of his cheek then gasped as he watched Bruce’s eyes fly open, immediately obscured by the closing of the black bag. Clint wanted to scream.

Bruce was _alive._

And if he was alive, why couldn’t the others be too? Clint scrambled forward and reached for the bag that Bruce had just been sealed in, fingers grasping at nothing but air. Why couldn’t he reach them?

His eyes darted to the side when he saw the woman begin to move again, her back now turned towards him. He watched in shocked horror as a chasm seemed to open in the air, tearing apart the once familiar setting of their room and replacing it with utter darkness. Hollow whispers rang in Clint’s ears, cloying into his consciousness and making his head become fuzzy. Gentle touches fell along his body as white mist slowly enveloped him, oozing from the gaping hole and smothering the entire room in a blanket of impenetrable fog.

It filled his lungs and clung to his skin until he felt he would be swallowed whole and vanish. It was with frightened and spellbound eyes that he watched the woman float through the wavering opening. The black objects by her side made Clint’s stomach churn. Those things were his friends. Why wasn’t he strong enough to save them?

The mist caved farther in on him, obscuring all but the woman’s face from his vision. A smile curved up one side of her mouth, the gesture not reaching the rest of her face. Clint could just barely make out the words that fell from her lips as she stepped back into the darkness. _Come, child, the night is but young. Sleep, while your eyes will still close to darkness._

Seemingly without his consent, his eyes drifted shut and the fog that enshrouded his body took over his mind, sending him into inescapable darkness.

***

A soft buzzing filled Clint’s ears as he awoke, his head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. Bleary memories from the night before began to flood his mind and he suddenly jerked upright, cold sweat breaking out across his skin. His eyes frantically flew across the room, panic rising in his chest as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings.

Everything was colorless. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, they all came together in a single expanse of unyielding whiteness, no clear edges or defining surfaces. The simple white beds lined up in a row blended in perfectly with the rest of the room, almost imperceptible to Clint’s sleep-clouded eyes. Atop each of the beds was a white sheet, tucked in at the sides to obscure whatever was underneath.

A morbid curiosity tugged at Clint’s feet, urging him to crawl off the bed and step cautiously across the icy floor. The first bed was only a few feet away and Clint could feel his stomach take a sickening drop as soon as he was standing at its edge. The unmistakable outline of a human form stood out from the bleak white expanse of fabric. Almost not daring to look but somehow knowing he had to, Clint lifted a single shaking hand to the edge of the sheet and pulled. The corner came free with ease and soon the whiteness was being removed, pulled back inch by inch.

Clint gasped and dropped the cloth as if it had burned him.

And in a way, he had been burned. Thor’s blank face was now scorched into his memory, a bleak picture that would never leave him for as long as he lived.

The man who had always been so full of laughter, the man with the legacy of a god, was now stony and expressionless. Pale.

He stepped away from the unnerving figure, back hitting against his forgotten bed and creating a sharp clatter in the otherwise completely silent tomb.

It was then that it struck him. The harsh reality of the situation he was in. The seamless expanse of white devoid of windows or doors, the beds in the room each covered with a sheet…six shrouded figures lying prone and unmoving. Bile burned the back of his throat and he had to repress the urge to be sick.

Instead he sank heavily onto the bed behind him, grasping his head in his hands and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do, wondering why was he the only one living in this godforsaken place.

He was letting out a string of whispered curses when he first heard the soft sound, a tickle in the back of his mind from a nightmare he wished he could forget. But the laughter refused to die away and grew stronger instead, closer.

The woman once again appeared before him, white shroud making her almost invisible in the room, only her blood red lips and raven hair stood out from the bleak surroundings. Clint was once again trapped by her gaze, frozen in place as she slowly approached.  A hand grazed his chin and he shivered at the deathly cold touch. “What do you want?” He asked, trying to hide how much she was affecting him.

A smile grew on the phantom’s face as she brought her palm to rest over Clint’s heart. _Three beats past the darkest hour and all will be complete. Hear the raven’s call, set them free. If you fail, prepare for the fall. This is my message, this is your task._

With that she stepped away and lifted both of her arms in the air, head thrown back and mouth whispering forbidden words that Clint couldn’t catch. All around him the walls seemed to melt, sinking into the ground and being replaced by darkness. Even the beds began to disappear, leaving six sheets floating ominously in the air. Each body was exposed after a simple flick of her wrist and the cloth fell to the ground to be swallowed up by black.

A row of doors appeared in front of him, each with a different design carved into the front, intricate swirls of silver in the ebony surfaces. The doors opened for only a short moment, just enough to take his friends inside, then each one slammed shut with a resolute thud. Once again, Clint was alone.

 A small table rose up from the ground and drew Clint’s eyes from the morbid scene. The ghostly woman gestured him closer and he rose on shaky legs to inspect the articles strewn across the table’s surface: a black box with muted silver accents and a lineup of vials with liquid swirling inside.

He cautiously picked up one of the glass containers and read the engraving etched into the side. “Thor Odinson.” Each of the bottles held a different name. His eyes flicked back to the table and he realized something had been carved there as well. **_Tick tock, a racing clock, lives are on the line. Pick your poison, drink it down. Save a soul, lost but found. The end is salvation, failure is death. Nothing is for certain until your last breath. Tick tock a racing clock, you’re running out of time._**

Clint’s eyes widened in shock and he looked towards the woman for confirmation, but she was staring serenely ahead, not paying him any mind. The words on the table rang through his head again and again as his mind unraveled the seemingly simple direction. He took a steadying breath and wiped his hands on his pants. If he had to save his friends and these vials were the way…then he didn’t have time to lose.

But which one should he drink first?

He respected all of his friends equally and didn’t want to have to pick one over the other, but he knew he had to choose-- and fast. He wracked his brain and forced himself to focus. One name came immediately to mind. 

Natasha.

She certainly didn’t need saving first, but there was no denying their relationship with each other-- and the fact that he’d be unnecessarily distracted until he knew she was safe. Without hesitation he grabbed the glass vial labeled with Natasha’s name and brought it to his lips, tipping it back and drinking the bitter liquid as quickly as he could. As soon as the last drop had passed by his tongue he sprinted for the door Natasha had disappeared behind, reaching for the handle but falling forward with a gasp as his entire body passed through the seemingly solid structure.

He stumbled into a dark room, lit only by a single candle with wax leaking down its sides. Wooden limbs brushed over his skin as he walked through the strange place, warily eyeing the puppets hanging from the darkness. Their faces were painted in scowls and screams, glaring eyes and gaping mouths. In the flicking light, shadows flashing through the room, their eyes seemed to follow him as he picked slowly through the room. He tentatively called Natasha’s name, receiving no response. The puppets only smiled wider.

Clint emerged suddenly into an opening, a circle cut out of the clutter of the wooden bodies with a single puppet hanging at its center. Its head was lolled to the side and its thin wrists were strung up at awkward angles. Its legs were swinging loosely in the air. Clint’s heart froze and he felt his entire body grow cold with dread.

“Natasha?” The name fell from his lips in a pained whisper. “Oh God Natasha, _no._ ”

He closed his eyes for only a moment, praying that it wasn’t real.

_Natasha. NATASHA. Natasha._

Voices whispered all around him, creeping closer before fading away. A soft groan met his ears and he turned back to Natasha in horror as she began to move, strings jerking at her pale skin. Her eyes were blank and lifeless, dried tears stained her cheeks. _I’m sorry_ is all Clint heard before he was knocked to the ground. Blood dripped down onto his face…but not his own.

Natasha hovered over him and gasped, struggled against the ties that held her. But there was no escape. The wall of puppets seemed to close in around them, eyes glaring into Clint’s very soul.

_Threads of fate bind us all, holding us back if we don’t take the fall. What’s built for one cannot hold two, lose your resolve and there’s nothing to catch you._

The words sent a shiver up Clint’s spine as he listened. Threads of fate? Falling? What the fuck was he supposed to do with that?

He’d never been the smartest person in their ragtag group, but he forced himself to think as quickly as he could. His eyes flicked back up to Natasha, to the thin metal strands that bound her. They quivered and flashed and Natasha jerked forward again, a cry of pain escaping her lips. Clint backed away, keeping as much space as possible between himself and Natasha as they circled each other in the small space.

Threads of fate…threads of fate…Clint’s eyes grew wide and he stared harder at the strings holding Natasha up. Now what was the rest? Something about falling…

He watched as Natasha jerked to a stop. The strands strained and hummed as they held her in the air, as if they were struggling to hold up Natasha’s small frame. A thought came into Clint’s head but he pushed it away quickly. Too dangerous. He was supposed to save Natasha, not break her. But when the strings jerked again and Natasha bit her lip to muffle an agonized scream, Clint felt his resolve shatter. What else could he do?

He took a deep breath and stood his ground as Natasha flew towards him, jumping at the last moment and wrapping his arms around Natasha’s neck. His legs latched around her hips and he did his best to ignore the harsh yell that rattled in his ear as they swung in the air. He could hear the threads groaning at the added weight and he reached out to grab Natasha’s wrists, hands clasping over the cool metal extending from the joint.

He yanked down with all of his strength and felt blood ooze hot and steady from the gashes in his palms. But Natasha’s arms were free. And the last remaining strands couldn’t hold them up, snapping apart with a twang and sending them both plummeting towards the ground.

He drew Natasha to his chest as the puppets closed in on them, protecting her battered body with his body as wooden hands clawed his back. But he refused to yield. With Natasha already safe in his arms, there was no way he was backing down.

He stood up and barreled forward, forcing through the thicket of wooden limbs and leering faces. He reached the door and ran though it without stopping, skidding to a stop in the Black Room, panting for breath. He laid Natasha on the bed that had appeared and sighed. One down, five to go.

The woman hadn’t moved and continued to stare straight ahead as Clint approached the table again. His fingers grazed gently over the remaining vials then wrapped around the one farthest to the left. Tony. He may be strong, but he was still painfully human. The others would kill him if they found out Clint hadn’t gotten him to safety right off the bat. A small, bitter smile curved his lips as the sour liquid slid down his throat.

He placed the bottle on the table and walked up to Tony’s door, taking a moment to steel himself for whatever he might find.

His first step echoed eerily into darkness. A large cavern surrounded him, illuminated only by the soft glowing of the floor beneath his feet. “Tony?” His voice carried impossibly far, coming back to him a thousand times, mocking. “Tony are you here?” He listened for a new voice to break through the ringing of his own but heard nothing but the same repeated phrase.

Suddenly and without warning, he fell to the ground, landing on his hands and knees. Dead eyes met his own. Clint’s stomach clenched and his eyes widened as he scrambled back. But no matter where he went the dead eyes followed him.

The floor was glass, glowing slightly from the water just beneath the surface where bodies floated by like a nightmarish sea. His stomach roiled but he forced himself back onto his hands and knees. After all, Tony had to be here somewhere. His eyes peered into the murky depths and caught sight of a figure standing upright at the bottom of the pool. A living body trapped amongst the dead.

Clint’s eyes scanned for an opening in the glass floor and found that a crescent had been carved out about twenty feet away. He went over then flinched back when he saw the bodies floating there without the thick glass to help obscure their lifeless features.

But this was the only way to save Tony.

He took a deep breath and jumped, plunging himself into the icy water. The unbelievable cold pressed down on him, making his skin tingle and threatening to steal his breath, but the sight of Tony’s blank face was enough to keep him strong. He kicked his legs and moved forward with powerful strokes of his arms. Dark hair floated gently around Tony’s face and his lips were already a pale blue.

Fear gripped Clint’s heart as he wondered if the man was already dead-- if he was too late. But then a bubble escaped from between Tony’s lips, rising quietly to the surface along with Clint’s hopes. There was still time, not much, but they could make it.

He swam as fast as he could and latched onto the chains that bound Tony to the bottom of the liquid tomb. He pulled and tugged and strained until his head spun and his hands were raw. But they didn’t budge. The bubbles escaping from Tony’s lips became less frequent and eventually faded away.

Clint thought his heart might’ve stopped along with Tony’s weak exhales.

In a burst of desperation, Clint did the only thing he could think to do. He dove forward and crushed his mouth over Tony’s forcing the last bit of air he had been holding in his cheeks into the other man’s mouth. Blackness bloomed behind his eyelids as his lungs screamed. Time was running out for both of them.

Clint could feel the sticky fingers of unconsciousness seeping into his mind when suddenly the heavy chains fell from Tony’s wrists and ankles. Almost immediately the entire sea seemed to groan and stir as the once lifeless bodies began to look out into the murky water, dark eyes blinking to find their way. Kicking off the ground with Tony in his arms, Clint rushed for the surface, for air. He could make out the opening in the glass, could see the hazy image of darkness beyond the water. He was so close.

A cold hand wrapped around his ankle and pulled him down, dull fingernails digging into his skin. Clint kicked with his other foot, striking blindly at the being holding him back until he was released. He rose to the surface with a gasp, taking in a breath of air before being tugged under. More hands reached out to grab at his ankles and calves, pulling down and forcing him deeper.

With his last bits of energy he pushed Tony’s unconscious form above his and out of the water, urging the man to breathe while he tried to hold in his own dwindling supply of air. His foot connected with face after face until he could once again swim to the surface. He immediately swam to the edge and pushed Tony onto the glass flooring. Hands gripped his ankles then froze, grip relaxing before disappearing entirely. Clint crawled out of the water and landed on his back beside Tony.

From the corner of his eye he could see down into the depths of the water where lifeless bodies once again floated by. He shivered then picked Tony up in his arms, started to look for the exit in the darkness. But his eyes found something else instead, just by the water’s opening.

_Below the surface, skin and bone, icy waters called their home. Risk it all for another’s breath and you’ll be spared a gruesome death._

Clint cocked his head and stared at the words for just a moment before realizing that he needed to get back to the Black Room to save the others. His feet couldn’t carry him quickly enough.

With Tony tucked away in the bed beside Natasha’s, Clint once again approached the table. He didn’t bother looking at the woman this time, already too deep in thought to worry about what she might be doing.

He took one last look at the two bodies behind him and made his decision, fingers wrapping around the next vial. Only one thought was on his mind as the thick liquid slid down his throat: he couldn’t leave them alone without worrying, he had to have someone by them to help ease his mind.

A man who cared for and protected his friends with all of his strength.

Running through Thor’s door was an experience that Clint could never have been prepared for. His feet immediately slipped on the red liquid running along the ground, blood that seemed to coat everything. So much red that Clint couldn’t believe his eyes.

The sharp metallic smell seared into his nostrils and made his head spin. He felt his knees grow weak and crumpled to the ground, blood staining the skin of palms. He lifted his gaze slowly from the floor, fearing what he might find, and realized he was right to be afraid when he caught sight of Thor’s tortured form.

Thick iron spikes were pierced through his body, blood oozing out from the flesh they bit into. Each arm and leg was pulled back at a terrible angle, surely his limbs were broken. His chest heaved with each breath and his skin slid sickeningly against the metal spike impaled through his ribs. His eyes were staring blankly ahead. His mouth was frozen open in a silent scream.

Thor had never been one to show his pain.

Clint’s body refused to listen to him as he told it to move, to go help his friend. Shock kept him laced tightly to the ground. There was so much blood. It dripped from Thor’s face, from his chest, from his arm. It seemed to seep from his skin itself onto the ground where it pooled in crimson puddles.

Clint scanned the room, looking anywhere but at the battered body in front of him, trying to give his mind a moment to recollect. But instead of finding peace he found words, painted on the wall across from him, just behind Thor’s head. Dark red against darker black.

_Open your eyes, let the truth pour in. Beating it will only make you stronger. Caution causes pain, confidence is power. Cast ill resolve aside or be devoured by the monster._

Clint took a breath, rereading the words. He had to save Thor…by being decisive? He shook his head, wondering why the hell these clues were all so fucking cryptic.

A low moan reached his ears and he looked up into Thor’s pained face. His eyes were searching the room blindly and his hands were opening and closing in discomfort. A cough wracked through his body, jerking him slightly, and a harsh yell was ripped from his throat as the spikes moved. They dug into his flesh and tore it open, fresh blood flowed onto the ground into tiny rivers.

Clint watched in horror until he couldn’t bear it any longer. His feet moved on their own, carrying him towards Thor’s shaking form. He reached out a hand and tentatively touched the side of Thor’s face. “Thor?”

Thor’s jaw clenched in pain and Clint quickly withdrew. Caution causes pain…how could he forget? He took a deep breath and mentally smacked himself, this was no time to be making such simple mistakes. Thor needed him.

When his eyes opened again it was for one sole purpose-- to figure out what needed to be done. He inspected every inch of Thor’s body, paying special attention to the way the spikes sank through his skin and dug into muscle. It was obvious he had to pull them out somehow…but it seemed impossible. Moving one even the slightest bit tore Thor apart. The amount of blood that would come from trying to take one out would surely be astounding.

But the painting on the wall clearly said he had to be confident.

He wrapped his fingers slowly around the first spike that was threaded through Thor’s forearm and pierced through his thigh. Gripping the cold metal in his fist, he gave a sharp tug, not stopping until all resistance was gone. The spike clattered to the ground noisily and Clint watched the flesh it had just vacated with bated breath. Blood trickled slowly from the wound but it did not pour down in rivers as Clint had expected. It seemed as though being quick was the key.

The other spikes piercing Thor’s arms and legs were removed with relative ease. They fell with hollow clangs and gathered in a small pile on the floor until only one remained in Thor’s body. The last spike ran through the center of his chest and dug into the ground, the point of penetration was completely obscured by blood.

Clint grabbed the last spike and tugged sharply, then tugged again, and again. But the thing didn’t move. It was stuck in the ground. Clint bit the inside of his cheek as blood began to rush freely from Thor’s chest. It poured from Thor’s mouth as he shouted, gurgling in the back of his throat. It coated Clint’s vision.

But what could he do? How else could he remove the spike?

Desperation rose up in his chest and blocked his throat. He stared at Thor’s chest and the metal that protruded from his skin. There was only one option he could see.

Crawling under the broken man, Clint was soon soaked with blood. He lined his back up with Thor’s and hooked their arms together, bracing himself for what was to come. He said a silent prayer then heaved upwards, pushing Thor up and off of the blood-stained spike.

He felt the warmth immediately as Thor’s blood seeped through his shirt. But the other man was safe and that’s all that mattered. And now all he had to do was get the hell out.

The Black Room suddenly became a sanctuary as he rushed in from Thor’s room. The darkness of the walls was a welcome comfort from the garish red he had just left behind. Thor’s back hit the sheets and Clint let out a sigh of relief, thankful that that particular challenge was over.

Now only three vials stood on the table. And the decision was harder. Clint had to think for longer than he liked before choosing a container and tipping it back into his mouth. Bucky might be angry that he had saved him before Steve, but Steve would be even more pissed off had it gone the other way. (And Steve was _technically_ his leader, so Clint let him sway the decision.)

The first thing that registered in Clint’s mind as he stepped through the door was that it was sticky. The air was humid and muggy and the back of Clint’s neck was already dripping with sweat. His hair was plastered wetly to his forehead. He wondered briefly why this room had such a unique atmosphere as opposed to the others, almost like a jungle but without all of the vegetation.

And then he saw it.

Curled up in a ball a few feet away was the largest snake Clint had ever seen. Its thick coils were the size of his chest and the sleek black scales that covered its entire body seemed to gleam menacingly in Clint’s direction. But there was an even bigger problem. In the center of the snake’s tightly woven body was a small patch of tan and a glint of silver. It could only be one thing: Bucky.

As if sensing his presence, the snake lifted its head and turned in Clint’s direction. Its beady eyes trapped Clint in their gaze and held him fast.

_Hello human,_ it hissed. _I’m surprised you’ve made it this far, but your journey ends here. You can go no further._

Clint’s eyebrows furrowed together and he scanned the room for anything that could help him save Bucky. “Why?”

_Because,_ the snake growled, a low sound in the back of its throat, _I will never let you pass. And you will never be able to save your friend._

The snake slithered closer, long body stretching out across the floor, until it was only a foot away from Clint’s carefully motionless figure. _However…maybe we could make a deal…_

“A deal?”

_Yes, a deal._ He huffed. _You want to live and I want to eat. I believe we can help each other with our…predicaments._ He moved closer and wound around Clint’s space, Clint eyes tracking his glinting teeth and flicking tongue. _I will let you leave here, safe and sound, but in return you must leave your friend with me and never look back._

Clint’s head was shaking before the snake had finished. “No deal. I’m not leaving him.”

The snake hissed, head rearing back and fangs exposed. _If you want to live, you must leave him. There is no other choice. Leave him and your life will be easier. All of your lives will be. You will never want for anything. Leave him and I can make anything yours._

“There’s nothing more important than my team.” Clint said, glaring up at the snake’s beady eyes. “You can’t take Bucky and promise I’ll have anything I want, since he’s kind of part of the package.”

_Fool!_ The snake roared. _Don’t you understand? I’m offering you a life that other people would dream and die for. You would throw that away from a mere man? And a broken one at that?_

Clint shrugged, smirking. “Of course.”

_Insolence!_

The snake suddenly sprang forward and slammed against Clint’s chest, knocking him into the wall.

_You have made your choice, human._ It hissed. _Prepare to die for your meaningless act of kindness!_

The snake opened its jaws wide and rushed towards Clint, intending to take him as a second meal. Clint threw an arm up in hasty defense and the snake’s maw wrapped around it, swallowing it completely. Teeth sank into his flesh and he couldn’t help the shout that left his lips.

_Give up!_ The snake screamed. _Give up and all of this can end!_

But Clint shook his head, looking away with tight eyes as his arm burned from fingertips to socket. He couldn’t give in, no matter what.

“I’ll never leave Bucky,” he said from between gritted teeth. “I don’t care what you offer me or threaten me with.”

_Then you’re a fool. Because now you’ll both die by my fangs._

The snake hissed and Clint clenched his first, thrusting it back into the snake’s throat. “Eat this, if you’re so hungry. But leave Bucky the fuck alone.” He pushed his arm in deeper and ignored the shooting pain that seared his veins. This was something he had to do.

The snake choked slightly and clenched its jaws tighter. Clint groaned in pain.

He collapsed to the ground, mind in a haze. Was this how it was going to end?

The snake loomed over him, green eyes glowing in the darkness. He saw them shoot forward and he tried to flex his arm to stop the attack.

But the fatal blow never came.

He waited expectantly, tensed for the pain that was sure to come as the snake’s fangs sunk into his flesh, but there was nothing. He peered cautiously into gloom.

Something dark moved in the far recesses of the room and Cling saw Bucky lying prone just a few feet away from the strange mass. With Clint moving again, the shadow began to advance faster. It approached Bucky at incredible speed, but Clint was closer and quickly scooped the larger man onto his back, struggling only slightly at the weight.

The adrenaline pumping through his veins powered him forward as he ran for the door, desperate to escape the shadow that was trailing at his feet, nipping at his heels. His foot pressed hurriedly over an inscription as he ran.

_A life written in blood and darkness. How do you measure sin? Choose to save, choose to give. Can you forgive what has been?_

Now only two vials remained and Clint knew he was running out of time. The woman stared at him silently as if in warning, telling him to move faster if he wished to make it out alive. He drank down the liquid in Steve’s bottle and stepped quickly through the door. There was no time for anything else.

The thick smell of antiseptic met his nose, a stench that he’d learned to associate with hospitals and death. White sterile walls surrounded him and a soft beeping filled his ears. Men dressed in starched, white frocks stood in a circle in the center of the room, mask-covered faces staring down at the gurney between them.

Clint edged closer and peered into the group of men, having to bite back a horrified reaction to what he saw: Steve’s pale body was strapped to the gurney, thick cuffs restraining his arms and legs. A small tray of tools was set up by his side, an array of scalpels, scissors and other small devices that gleamed in the harsh fluorescent light.

He saw another coat hanging on the wall and picked it up on a whim, throwing it over his shoulders and pulling it tight around his chest. The smell of chemicals permeated his mind. He dug his hands into his pockets as he strode slowly over to the circle of men then froze when his fingers brushed against something. He pulled out a folded sheet of paper, creases crisp and neat, and quickly read the note inside.

_Eyes are often blind, ears are often deaf. Truth is hidden by the senses. Choose to stay or choose to go, you’ll face the consequences._

His eyebrows drew together in confusion and then shook his head, stuffing the paper back into his pocket and walking forward to join the group gathered around Steve’s body. He hid the disgust in his voice as he peered down at his friend’s pale face. “So what’s wrong with him?”

The men around him all looked at him in surprise. “Nothing’s wrong with him. This is the research and development department, not a hospital.” They all chuckled. “He’s here for study. If something _was_ wrong with him, well, then he’d be useless.”

Clint fought back the urge to punch each of them in their smug faces and nodded his head solemnly instead. “I see. I’m new here, just transferred from…upstairs.”

They all hummed in understanding. “Well, if you’re new... You can just sit back and watch us work for now.”

Clint nodded again and the men quickly went back to talking amongst themselves, Clint already mostly forgotten. One of the men picked up a scalpel and held it up to the light, grinning happily. “Shall we begin then?”

Everyone offered their consent and Clint watched in muted horror as the sharp knife dug into Steve’s skin, ripping him open at the seams. Steve’s eyes flew open and his body jerked against the restraints as he thrashed against the tortuous procedure.

The man only chuckled at Steve’s pain and dug the knife in deeper, slicing through muscle and tendon and veins. “I wonder how long he’ll last…” The surgeon mused softly, completely ignorant of the grunts of pain that left his victim’s mouth. The others murmured their own curiosity on the subject.  Clint ground his teeth.

Someone else grabbed a knife and moved to Steve’s other side, opening the skin there as the scalpel flashed in the light. Blood splattered across pale skin. Shouts pierced the air. Suddenly, a pair of dark eyes locked on his and Clint felt his mouth go dry as Steve looked directly at him. His face held nothing but accusation and a shuttered kind of distrust. Clint felt his heart breaking inside his chest even before Steve opened his mouth.

“You,” Steve whispered. “Get out of here. I don’t want you here.”

Clint shook his head.

“Get out!” Steve shouted.

The scientists all looked at each other quizzically for a moment then shrugged and went back to work, each one now picking up a tool and digging into Steve’s soft flesh. Strapped to the gurney, Steve thrashed and howled, eyes rolling back in his head as he tried to grit his teeth against the pain.

But somehow, he still managed to turn enough to meet Clint’s eyes again. Clint felt his stomach lurch and then fall at Steve’s next words.

“I don’t want you here.” He panted. “I don’t need your help!” The last words were a half-strangled yell, ripped from Steve’s throat as a knife dug into his thigh.

Clint took a step back. The anger, the _malice_ in Steve’s eyes was disconcerting.

A crazed look came over Steve’s features. “That’s right, leave! Leave me just like everyone else! I don’t need anyone, right? Well I definitely don’t need _you_!”

The words cut at him, but Clint held his ground. Steve was scared. That was all. He took a deep breath and took a step closer, back to where he was before, then another so he was closer still. Steve thrashed harder.

The men crowded closer and temporarily obscured Clint’s view, but when they parted again Clint knew he had to do something quick. Steve’s body was in tatters. Skin was missing and peeling back, muscles were exposed and bleeding. Everything was raw.

Steve caught Clint staring and his eyes darkened. He strained against the cuffs and roared.  “I TOLD YOU TO FUCKING LEAVE!”

Clint sucked in a breath and strode up to the bed with purposeful steps. He stopped only when he was right beside Steve’s head. He bent down and smoothed back the other man’s hair. He whispered just loud enough so that Steve could here. “I’m not leaving you. You’re not going to be alone this time, Steve. Never again.”

Steve quieted instantly and something strange settled over his features. Almost like a trance. Peace and tranquility in its purest form. The men around him began to mutter angrily.

“Why isn’t he responding? Did we kill him?”

Another man shook his head. “He’s still breathing.”

“So why isn’t he responding?”

One of them huffed in frustration. “What a waste, he’s not even reacting to the tests.” He shook his head and took his coat off at the door. “We’ll resume in the morning.” And with that he strode out the door. All of the other men soon followed suit, leaving only Clint behind.

He worked quickly to undo Steve’s restraints then lifted him onto his back, trying to be as gentle as possible with the battered body. But Steve never made a sound and that same dreamy look was still plastered on his face.

But Clint didn’t allow himself to feel any of that peace until Steve was laid safely beside Bucky’s bed, sheet tucked up to his chin to cover the worst of the wounds. It was the only protection Clint could offer at the time and it pained him that he was so useless to his friends.

He couldn’t wallow in his negative thoughts for long, however, because one small vial still stood out starkly against the black surface of the table. He picked up the container and brought it quickly to his lips.

Clint may have saved this bottle for last because of Bruce’s quiet strength and resilience (and his knowledge that Steve had already gone through enough pain to last a lifetime), but he knew that even the seemingly indestructible Bruce had a breaking point.

The woman’s eyes followed him silently as he rushed through the last door, a small smile crinkling her lips.

A blast of heat hit him as soon as he stepped inside. The air was dry and scorching, his skin turned red and his entire body itched and told him to run. It wasn’t safe here.

Fire roared all around him, licking at the ground and flaring into the air. Everything was a mixture of red and orange. Everything was burning.

Through the blaze he could just make the outline of figure, but it was too far away from him to see clearly. He walked around the perimeter of the flames looking for an opening to see better but found nothing. There was no hole in the wall of fire.

His frantic searching led him to an engraving in the ground, flames wrapped around each word. Time seemed to stop as the blaze danced before his eyes.

_As inescapable as death, the fire that licks through your veins. Are you willing to bear it on your shoulders, to know someone else’s pain?_

Clint read the words once, twice, three times. His eyes flicked from the roaring flames to the phrases etched into the ground. Fire in my veins…pain? Did he have to walk through the blaze, burning, to reach Bruce? All of the signs seemed to confirm his suspicion.

He was suddenly very glad that he had saved Bruce for last, since he didn’t think he’d be able to move after completing this task. But his heart still ached for the man trapped in the inferno, knowing that he had suffered alone here the entire time.

Resolved, Clint took a step back and walked calmly to where he had seen Bruce before. He once again made out the outline of a man in the flames and he clenched his fists. He barreled into the scorching fire and didn’t stop running. The flames licked his skin and smoke filled his lungs. But he couldn’t stop. He had to reach Bruce.

Everything was a blur by the time he finally made it to where the other man’s sagging form was propped up against a pillar. Ropes held him in place.

Clint’s fingers worked quickly but clumsily to untie the bindings, fumbling more than usual because of the burns that puckered his skin. Bruce nearly fell head first into the fire before Clint could catch him and situate him on his back. The pressure on his skin, now raw and angry red, made him wince in pain and stumble forward. He stared out into the inferno before him and let out a sigh. All he had to do was make it back through the flames, and then they would be free.

He took his first step forward and screamed, nearly collapsing due to the pain that shot through his body. Every nerve seemed to be screaming at him at once. His world flickered from red to black and he struggled to stay on his feet. He took another breath and tried to ignore the tears running down his cheeks. There was no other way. He would have to do it. At the very least, he would have to get Bruce through.

Shoving the collar of his shirt into his mouth, he bit harshly into the fabric as he ran back into the fire. The pain was overwhelming. It threatened drag him under, into unconsciousness where everything would be dark and quiet, but Clint refused. He just had to hold out a little longer.

He rushed forward, jaw straining as he attempted to control the pain that roared through his body. He focused on the gentle rush of air on his neck from Bruce’s shallow breaths. The reason he had to keep going.

Crossing the threshold of the blaze, he immediately fell to his knees, coughing and groaning in pain as the world spun uncontrollably around him. The door faded in and out of view. He cursed under his breath and continued forward, still on his hands and knees, Bruce balanced carefully on his back.

He fell through the door with an ungraceful thump. The Black Room surrounded him and he groaned in relief. They were all safe now.

A white fog floated slowly across his line of vision, covering the darkness of the room with its soft hue. He blinked slowly and forced himself to sit up. The laughter that rang in his ears was unmistakable.

The woman stared down at him, dark black hair fanning out around her face. She lifted a hand and Bruce drifted slowly from Clint’s back to a bed on the far side of the room. Clint exhaled in relief.

“I got them all back, now let us go.”

Something flashed behind the woman’s eyes and Clint was suddenly reminded of their meeting. Terror shot through his veins and turned his body icy cold. He tried to keep his gaze as challenging at her unrelenting stare.

With a wave of her wrist, Clint was airborne, moving through the air without any control. A cold sweat broke out across his skin as he neared her waiting form.

The specter smiled, hollow and dead, red lips making Clint think of all of the blood he had seen spilled that day. He swallowed thickly.

_You have indeed saved your friends, but have you completed the entire task?_

She repeated her words from earlier in the day, a time that seemed like an eternity ago to Clint.

_Hear the raven’s call, set them free. If you fail, prepare for the fall. This is my message, this is your task._

Clint frowned as he thought. “The raven’s call, I have to wait for that? There aren’t even any birds here.”

The phantom just stared at him knowingly.

His eyes searched the room, finally landing back on the table. He pushed himself to his feet and moved carefully to the now nearly empty structure. A single black box remained.

His fingers closed over the ornate surface and he held it carefully in his hands. Should he trust what was inside? What if it was something else horrible? Clint didn’t think he could take anymore.

But at the same time, he didn’t have much of a choice.

 The cover came off easily and Clint reached into the small box, pulling out a single black feather. A raven’s feather. A rustling noise met his ears and he turned his head to the side just in time to see a great black bird land on the specter’s shoulder. Its beady eyes watched him warily.

Uncertain, Clint gripped the feather tighter in his fist. The bird looked menacing at best. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps all of his earlier efforts had been for nothing.

He bowed his head and felt the gentle brush of feathers against his neck. A sharp beak pecked at his ear. He nearly flinched back in shock, hands twitching to defend himself. But the bird merely stared at him harder before plucking the feather from between his fingers.

The raven bent back and tucked the black feather carefully away before ruffling its wings and giving Clint’s head a final peck. A sharp call left its throat and then it was gone, fluttering into the air and fading away.

Goosebumps rose up on Clint’s skin as the woman smiled again and walked closer. A wraithlike hand rested on his shoulder and held him tight as she leaned in, pressing her lips gently to his forehead.

He shivered instantly at the touch and felt all of the warmth leave his body, all of the strength leaving his limbs. The place where she had kissed him felt like it was frozen solid.

Everything went black.

******

Clint’s eyes fluttered open and he groaned as he sat up, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. Why did his entire body feel like lead?

Movement around him suddenly caught his attention and he looked up into Steve’s worried face. A warm hand covered his forehead. “Clint, are you okay?”

Clint blinked slowly a few times and looked around at the other faces peering down at him, all looking anxious and concerned. “Yeah, I’m fine. What happened?”

Steve crouched to the ground and pulled Clint carefully into a seated position. “Well, we all stayed up and watched that horror movie last night… and when we woke up in the morning you were laying by yourself in the middle of the hallway. We couldn’t get you to wake up either.” He stood up and let Natasha crouch down beside Clint instead. “We thought something might’ve happened while we were asleep.”

Clint’s eyes widened at that as he thought back to the events of the night before. Had it all been a dream then? Had the phantom woman and his trip through hell been merely a figment of his imagination?

Everyone was still staring at him with curious eyes, growing more troubled the longer Clint stayed silent. He finally shook his head. “I don’t remember real well, but I don’t think anything happened.”

The room let out a collective sigh. Thor ruffled his hair playfully as he walked back into the kitchen, Tony trailing behind him. Natasha cast him one last appraising look before patting him on the back and leaving. Bruce and Bucky each gave him a quick squeeze on the arm before ducking out, leaving him and Steve alone.

Steve stared down at him then held out a hand, hauling him to his feet. “Try not to scare us like that again.”

Clint laughed lightly. “Like you’re one to talk. Who was it who made everyone watch that stupid movie again?”

A flush colored Steve’s cheeks. “I thought it would be a good bonding activity!”

“Bonding, right.” Clint rolled his eyes and pushed playfully at Steve’s chest. “But don’t worry, I’m fine. I was probably just sleep walking or something.”

The worry never completely left Steve’s eyes but he let the subject drop. He took a single step back and looked at the man in front of him. “Well if you need anything just tell me, alright?”

Clint nodded. “Of course, Steve.”

He watched quietly as Steve turned and joined the others in the kitchen. A wave of disbelief washed over him and he sank down onto the couch, hands shaking as he stared at the floor. Had it really all been just a dream? It had felt so real… _still_ felt so real…

The sound of hollow laughter echoed suddenly in his ears, contrasting sharply with the familiar voices and sounds coming from the kitchen. Clint’s head shot up and he stared out across the living room, catching just a wisp of white smoke before it disappeared.

A raven called from outside the window, opening its wings to fly away.

 

\----

**Author's Note:**

> ~disclaimer~  
> *adaptation from a really old work of mine posted in another fandom*


End file.
